


message in a bottle

by jayeinacross



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ghosts, M/M, References to Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-16
Updated: 2013-06-16
Packaged: 2017-12-15 03:57:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/845032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jayeinacross/pseuds/jayeinacross
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Combeferre is an understanding friend, but Enjolras doubts that even he would believe it if he told him that there was a ghost in their new house that seems to have devoted himself to bothering Enjolras while he’s trying to study.</p>
            </blockquote>





	message in a bottle

**Author's Note:**

> My thanks to [kii](http://archiveofourown.org/users/kiyala), without whom this fic probably would not have had an actual plot and would be about 7000 words shorter.
> 
> Warnings for references to past major character death and suicide.

"Combeferre?" Enjolras calls, voice carrying through the open door of his new bedroom and down the hall to Combeferre’s. He’s rearranging the furniture before he unpacks all his things -- he'll have to do something about the heavy curtains hanging over the windows so that the light will shine through in the afternoon. "Combeferre, do you know where my textbooks are?"

While he’s waiting for a reply, he checks underneath the bed to see if he could use it for storage space, and frowns when he sees something towards the back, against the wall. It’s a bottle that must have rolled back there, and the previous tenants hadn’t bothered to retrieve it. While he’s reaching for it, he hears a voice behind him that is very distinctly not Combeferre’s, and he freezes, drawing his arm back slowly with the bottle in hand.

"Wonder how long these ones will last," a man standing in the doorway mutters, watching Enjolras with a calculating look on his face.

"Excuse me," Enjolras says sharply, standing up and brushing the dust off his trousers, and the man’s head snaps up, looking almost as startled as Enjolras feels. "Who are you and what are you doing in my house?"

"Your house," the man starts to say, indignant and surprised, but he’s interrupted by Combeferre calling back to Enjolras, the sound of his footsteps approaching. Enjolras’ eyes flicker to the bottle in his hand and when his eyes return to the doorway, it’s Combeferre standing there and not the stranger.

"All the books are in the living room. There are a lot of boxes, but they should be labelled." Combeferre says, but Enjolras isn’t listening. "Enjolras, are you all right?"

Enjolras blinks. "Oh. Yes, thank you."

"What's that?" Combeferre nods towards the bottle that he's still holding, and Enjolras just shakes his head.

"Just something I found in here, I'm throwing it away." Once Combeferre has gone back to his own unpacking, Enjolras looks at the bottle again. It had alcohol in it once, but it's just useless glass that someone's forgotten to throw away now. But he remembers the man he saw who disappeared, and puts the bottle in one of his desk drawers.

As he keeps moving his things in, Enjolras begins to think that he imagined the man -- Combeferre clearly hadn't seen or heard him, and he's suddenly aware of the fatigue from moving boxes and furniture around all day, so when Combeferre sticks his head through the doorway again and says that he’s going to go out and get something for lunch, Enjolras decides to take a shower and get cleaned up in the meantime. He beings to relax under the hot spray, muscles loosening, the heat soothing the aches. By the time he’s done, his eyelids are drooping a little and he’s convinced himself that he’d just been more tired than he’d thought and imagined the short encounter; maybe he’ll have a quick nap after lunch before they start working again. When he walks back into his bedroom with his hair still dripping, Combeferre isn’t back yet, but the stranger is sitting on his bed, staring at him.

Enjolras lets out a strangled yelp that he’ll vehemently deny he ever made later, but he’s too busy clutching at the towel around his waist and spluttering to be embarrassed about it now. "What the hell are you doing in here?"

"Fuck," the stranger says. "You really can see me."

"Of course I can see you, now get out of my house!"

The guy doesn’t move, just keeps staring at him, a smile slowly spreading across his face. "I’m Grantaire. I’m a ghost."

Enjolras is still not entirely sure that this isn’t the product of sleep deprivation. The alternative is that someone has broken into his new house, snuck into his bedroom while he was showering, and is now claiming to be a ghost, which is just something that Enjolras really doesn’t want to be dealing with right now.

"No, really," Grantaire says, but Enjolras must look about as convinced as he feels, because he says eagerly, "Look!" and suddenly Grantaire’s standing right in front of him without standing or taking a single step.

Enjolras jumps backwards. "What the _fuck."_

"I told you." Enjolras flinches when Grantaire reaches for him, but his hand just passes through his arm with only a strange but not unpleasant tingling sensation.

He sits down at his desk chair heavily, putting a hand against his head. "This is happening. Why is this happening?"

"Sorry if I scared you." He doesn’t really sound sorry at all, but Enjolras’ irritation at that can’t quite overshadow the look on Grantaire’s face when he adds, "Nobody’s ever been able to see me before."

It’s not that Enjolras has ever refused the possibility of the existence of the supernatural, he’d just never had a reason to seriously consider it before now. When Combeferre gets home, Grantaire panics briefly and disappears again, and Enjolras still toys with the idea that he might be hallucinating, but unfortunately, Grantaire is back an hour or so later, and is showing no signs of going away any time soon. It quickly becomes clear that it's only Enjolras that can see him, which is a discovery that Grantaire takes with what Enjolras suspects is a mixture of disappointment and relief. He’s not used to being seen, Enjolras realizes quickly, and at times he’s more talkative than Enjolras really appreciates when he’s studying, while other times Grantaire just hovers around them silently, or disappears entirely for hours at a time.

Enjolras can’t really blame him for wanting to talk, because Grantaire has offered little about himself and Enjolras hasn’t pressed him for anything more, but from what he knows, Grantaire has spent a long time by himself. It’s Grantaire’s habit of doing his best to inconvenience Enjolras as much as possible whilst doing so that he finds so insufferable.

"Law," Grantaire muses, peering over Enjolras’ shoulder while he’s sitting at the dinner table with Combeferre, both of them bent over their textbooks. "What are you going for, corporate? Defending all those companies who are only concerned about how much money they’re making; that’s admirable."

His determination to annoy Enjolras by saying things that he knows to be blatantly untrue is just another thing that's completely infuriating about him. Unfortunately, it also works. Enjolras fights the urge to swat at Grantaire, knowing that his hand will only pass through him, but it provides at least some satisfaction. He can’t do that now, though, not with Combeferre glancing up at him every now and then, sensing that he’s a little tense, though not knowing why, but he can’t suppress the irritated noise he makes in the back of his throat, and Combeferre looks up from his own work. 

"What’s wrong?"

Combeferre is an understanding friend, but Enjolras doubts that even he would believe it if he told him that there was a ghost in their new house that seems to have devoted himself to bothering Enjolras while he’s trying to study.

"It’s nothing," Enjolras says instead, and if his pen tears through the paper and leaves a mark on the page underneath when he dots his next ‘i’, then it’s a simple accident.

Grantaire, of course, doesn’t miss it, and chuckles. "Slow down there, Apollo."

Gritting his teeth at the nickname he hates already, Enjolras tries to ignore him and keep working, but he doesn’t last too long, and finally announces, "I’m going to bed early." At least if he can get a decent night’s sleep, he can head to the library in the morning, where he’s hoping that Grantaire may not be able to follow him.

"Good night," Combeferre says, though he’s looking a little concerned. "I’ll see you in the morning."

"Go away," Enjolras hisses on his way up the stairs when Grantaire follows him, careful not to be too loud. He tries shutting his bedroom door in his face, but Grantaire just appears inside after a few seconds.

"I thought you’d figured out that doesn’t work."

"I can hope. Get out of my room, I’m going to sleep."

"You mean my room." Grantaire settles down cross-legged on the floor, watching Enjolras put his books away. "I was here for a long time before you."

"And then you died. So why are you still here?"

"No idea." Grantaire shrugs. "Tell me about Combeferre."

Enjolras sighs and sits down on his bed. Sometimes it’s better to just give in and answer his questions. He has a lot of them, and Enjolras can understand that. "We’ve known each other since we were kids. You know he’s a medical student. We go to the same university, and it just made sense for us to share. He’s the person I’m closest to and the most comfortable with." There is probably more to tell, years of stories, but Enjolras wouldn’t know where to start, and curious about Grantaire’s own life, he asks, "Why were you here?"

"Same as you, I guess. Just needed a place to live. But I was by myself." He’s silent for a minute, looking down at the floor now. "I don’t remember all of it, near the end. How I got _here."_

"You...don’t remember how you died?"

"No." Grantaire looks up again, and gives him a small smile. "You should sleep, Apollo. Night."

One moment Grantaire will be trying as hard as he can to irritate Enjolras and the next he's so genuinely curious about his life that it's difficult to stay annoyed at him, and then in another split second he'll shut down completely and disappear.

Enjolras hates it.

⇐~~~⇒

He goes to his classes in the morning, walking to the university with Combeferre, but he doesn't see Grantaire at home at all. He stays in the library through most of the afternoon so he can work, starting with the paper he has due soon, and then going over the details for the protest they're planning for next week. It's easy to get lost in his work in the quiet calm of the library, without any of Grantaire's snide remarks about what he's doing.

"So, this is where you've been all day," says a voice in Enjolras' ear, and he nearly falls out of his chair.

"What--how are you here? I didn't know you could leave the house."

"What, you thought I just lurked around there all the time?" Grantaire looks unimpressed, but considering that he's a ghost, Enjolras doesn't think that was an entirely unreasonable assumption to make. "I can go anywhere I did when I was alive."

Enjolras pitches his voice lower, remembering that they're in a public place. There aren't many other students around by now, but he doesn't really want to get kicked out for talking to what seems to be himself too loudly. "So you went to school here too?"

"Yeah." Grantaire hops up onto the edge the desk -- not that he has any need to sit down, but apparently old habits die hard, even when you're a ghost. "Art major."

He doesn't offer any more than that, and remembering how he'd disappeared after being asked about his life the night before, Enjolras doesn't press him. Instead, he just sighs and closes his books. "I guess I'm not going to get anything else done here. You coming home?"

The house is close to the university, which is why Enjolras and Combeferre had been so pleased to get it. If the weather is too bad, they might share a taxi, but on nice days like this, they just walk. Even though Grantaire could just appear back at the house in an instant, he opts to walk the few blocks with Enjolras to take advantage of the absence of a roommate to talk to him more. It's easier when Combeferre isn't around, because then Enjolras doesn't have to worry about being overheard and forced to make up some excuse, because he still doesn't quite know how he'd explain this to him.

"What were you working on?" Grantaire looks solid, but the sunlight doesn't cast a shine on his curly hair, and Enjolras can only hear the sound of his own footfalls on the pavement; just little things that remind him that Grantaire's only half there.

"A paper for Lamarque's class that I'm almost finished. And I was just going over a few things for the protest next week, making sure that everything's organized."

"A protest?" Grantaire says sharply, his tone surprising Enjolras a little.

"Yes. The university is raising fees and cutting funds in certain departments -- arts and history are being neglected in favour of other areas, and the same thing is happening in high schools, so we're staging a strike and a protest."

"You're a law student. Would you be affected by it?"

Enjolras gives Grantaire a hard look. "No, but that doesn't matter. There will still be students who have to pay more for an area of study that is getting budget cuts anyway, whose money is just going to go to something that doesn't benefit them at all, and the more people who help, the more effect it'll have. Don't you think it's worth it?"

Grantaire just shrugs. "Even if it does work, there's nothing stopping them from doing it again."

"If this doesn't work now, then we keep going, escalating, until it does, and they pay attention. Even something small is going to work against it, help combat even bigger issues." Grantaire doesn't look at all convinced, and Enjolras wants to keep arguing, but they're back at the house now and Combeferre's home, and when Enjolras walks into their sitting room, he finds that he's not alone.

"Who's that?" Grantaire asks, nodding towards the dark-haired person sitting with Combeferre.

"Courfeyrac," Enjolras says, half in answer to Grantaire and half in greeting to his friend.

"Enjolras," Courfeyrac replies, grinning and stretching out on the couch. "Hey, I was just telling 'Ferre, you know what we need to do?"

"No," Enjolras says, knowing exactly where this conversation is going. He looks at Combeferre, who just has a resigned expression on his face that tells Enjolras that the inevitable is still going to happen, but he still tries to protest. "No, Courf."

"Come on," Courfeyrac whines. "You need a housewarming party!"

Next to him, Enjolras can see Grantaire beginning to smirk, and he groans out loud. "You don't have a housewarming when you rent a house. We moved in weeks ago, pretty much everyone's already been here, there's no point."

"Good excuse for a party, though. It's just going to be our friends, Enjolras, nothing to worry about." Enjolras glances at Combeferre, who just holds up his hands and shrugs -- there's nothing anybody can really do once Courfeyrac sets his heart on a party, and Enjolras just sighs and nods reluctantly. "Great! This Saturday, okay? It'll be fun, we haven't done this in a while."

"We all went out last week. And do you even remember what happened at the last party at Feuilly's place?" Enjolras says, but goes ignored. 

Grantaire snorts in amusement. "This should be interesting."

⇐~~~⇒

On Saturday morning, Enjolras doesn't see Grantaire at all while he's cleaning up the house, putting anything fragile away. He won't be forgetting the time that Bossuet fell into a shelf of glasses and Joly panicked when he got shards embedded in his arm anytime soon. Grantaire's absence isn't exactly unusual, but Enjolras wonders if he'll come back for the party. He'd asked about Courfeyrac after he'd left the other day and seemed curious about the rest of Enjolras' friends, but Enjolras isn't sure how he'll react to a house full of people, even if they can't see him. It's not until later when Combeferre is out getting some food for tonight that Enjolras realizes that Grantaire's come home, when there's a series of loud thuds from downstairs and a faint yelp. He finds Grantaire standing next to the bookshelf in the sitting room, a pile of Combeferre's thick medical textbooks on the ground at his feet.

"It wasn't me," Grantaire says immediately.

"Well, I don't see anyone else here," Enjolras snaps, bending down to gather the books.

"Wait. You don't see him?"

Enjolras glances around at the otherwise empty room. "Uh, no. What are you--oh my god, if there is _another ghost in here--"_

"Now, now, it's not that bad," Grantaire says hastily, and gestures towards the empty space. "This is my friend Bahorel." When Enjolras doesn't say anything, just keeps staring at him, he hisses, "Don't be rude."

"Nice to meet you, Bahorel," Enjolras says, feeling utterly ridiculous. "So...this means you're the only ghost I can see, then."

"I guess so."

Enjolras sighs. "Is Bahorel staying for the party?"

Grantaire nods. "Bahorel really likes parties."

"Well, try not to cause any trouble." He hears Combeferre coming through the door with someone else behind him and quickly starts to put the books back on the shelf, and then Courfeyrac is walking in, calling his name.

"I brought you a present," Courfeyrac announces cheerfully, shoving a box into Enjolras' arms. "Happy housewarming!"

"What is it?" Enjolras asks warily. He remembers various other gifts that Courfeyrac has given him over the years, which includes a wig that's buried somewhere in the back of Enjolras' closet.

"Don't look so worried. It's a toaster."

"We already have a toaster, Courfeyrac."

"His aunt gave it to him when she visited last week," Combeferre calls from the kitchen.

"I already have two," Courfeyrac says plaintively.

"Right," Enjolras says, and takes the box into the kitchen, where Combeferre is starting to put out snacks. Grantaire, and presumably Bahorel, follow him.

"Your friend is kind of weird." Even if Enjolras had been able to reply, he wouldn't have argued with that. "I like him." Enjolras mouths, _of course you do_ , at him when Combeferre isn't looking, and Grantaire laughs.

Jehan is next to arrive, bearing flowers and a smile, Courfeyrac having let him in. It doesn't matter that they haven't been living there long and some of their friends haven't even seen the house yet; they're all already comfortable because it's Enjolras and Combeferre's house, and they know they'll always be let in, no matter how much Enjolras might gripe about it sometimes. Some of them have known each other for longer than others, but they're still a very tight-knit group, and completely at ease with one another. Jehan greets them each with a kiss on the mouth, and Enjolras sees Grantaire's look of surprise out of the corner of his eye. They're all used to Jehan's openly affectionate way; it's just how he is.

All the others aren't far behind, and soon enough the house is full of chatter and noise. Enjolras and Combeferre are usually pretty quiet, but it feels a little more like home when it's full of their friends. Enjolras is in the kitchen talking to Cosette and Feuilly but he can hear Bossuet and Eponine in the next room trying to decide what music to put on, and from the sound of it, Courfeyrac and Joly are continuing their bet to see who is the better dancer that's been unresolved for three months now. He sees Grantaire around, occasionally wandering between rooms, sometimes talking to what looks like nothing to Enjolras, but must be Bahorel. Enjolras gets dragged into judging for Courfeyrac and Joly's bet, and when he finally gets away claiming neutrality, he realizes that he hasn't seen Grantaire anywhere for a while and excuses himself.

He finds him upstairs in his room, where it's quieter, and Enjolras sits down next to him on the bed. "Is Bahorel in here?"

"No, he's downstairs. He likes crowds, even now."

"And you don't?"

"Sometimes." 

Enjolras collects the tiny parts of Grantaire that he allows, but he hasn't been able to put together all the pieces; Grantaire's still mostly a mystery, and he won't give up everything yet, so Enjolras just says, "Tell me about Bahorel?"

"He's a good friend, the first ghost I ever met. Likes fights and parties." It's not much, but it is something before Grantaire redirects the conversation. "What about your friends?"

"You've already heard about Courfeyrac." He'd asked about him the first time he'd visited. Enjolras settles back against his pillows, getting comfortable. "Joly -- the one who was dancing with Courf -- he's a med student too, that's how he and Combeferre met."

They talk for a while about the others -- how Joly and Bossuet and Musichetta met and quickly became inseparable; how they all learned not to underestimate Jehan; about the time Marius managed to get lost in a shopping complex and literally ran into Cosette, and when Courfeyrac found him, he was buying her a coffee to apologize.

Grantaire laughs at that last one. "That's how Bahorel and I met, and I thought he was going to punch me when I knocked him over -- he's huge, but now I know he only hits people he doesn't like."

"Wait. You knew Bahorel before you died?"

"Yeah," Grantaire says, mouth twisting. Clearly he hadn't meant to let that slip, but he doesn't deny it.

Enjolras has thought of this briefly before, but there's never been a time that seemed appropriate to bring it up. "Have you ever tried to find out how you died? I mean, you remember the rest of your life, it might be important--"

"It doesn't matter, Enjolras," Grantaire says, and before Enjolras can reply, someone's knocking on the door, and Grantaire is gone.

Enjolras sits up as the door opens. It's Combeferre. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine, just tired. I'll be back down in a minute."

Combeferre hesitates. "Were you talking to someone?"

"Just myself," Enjolras mutters. Combeferre nods, and he doesn't look entirely convinced, but he goes without saying anything more. Enjolras follows him downstairs a few minutes later, when it's clear that Grantaire isn't coming back, and lets himself be distracted by Courfeyrac's antics so he'll stop wondering what Grantaire isn't telling him.

⇐~~~⇒

"So, that's Enjolras." Bahorel sits down next to Grantaire on the bench outside in the garden. "He seems all right."

"He's kind of stupid sometimes, for someone so smart," Grantaire says.

"You like him."

"He's the only one that can see me, but whenever there are other people around, it's just out of the corner of his eye. He can't explain to them who he's looking at, because he's the only one." Grantaire shakes his head, frustrated. "It was better before."

It's easier for Bahorel. He knows a lot of other ghosts, and he's at ease with his death now, but it's different for Grantaire. "I know you don't really believe that, R."

"Having a little isn't always better than having nothing at all."

Bahorel shrugs. "Just give it time."

They sit in silence for a while, just listening to the music and the laughter from inside. Grantaire likes Enjolras' friends, and he likes the way Enjolras smiles when he talks about them, but it yanks at the envy that Grantaire tries to hold back, thinking about how they get to talk to him and touch him. Enjolras believes in too much and doesn't hold back where Grantaire has to, and they argue as much as they don't, and Grantaire can barely stand to look at him sometimes. He's too bright, too real, too earnest, and Grantaire's been hiding in the dark for too long.

"I'm glad it's him," Grantaire finally says.

"I know," says Bahorel.

The others filter out eventually, most of them leaving in pairs or groups, and Grantaire and Bahorel stay outside, talking until all the guests are gone, and Bahorel takes that as his cue to leave as well. Grantaire finds Enjolras in the kitchen cleaning up, and wishes he could touch him, really touch him, feel curve of his neck and the warmth of his skin, and he curses Enjolras for being the only one since he died to truly make him care.

Enjolras jumps a little when he sees movement out of the corner of his eye, still not quite used to Grantaire's sudden appearances. He relaxes when he realizes who it is, and says quietly, "Combeferre's gone to bed, I said I'd take care of this." 

"Bahorel's gone," Grantaire tells him, following him around as he tidies everything up. "Hey, he likes your friend, the one with the flowers, and the kisses--"

"Jehan."

"Him," Grantaire nods with a grin. "Bahorel thinks he's cute."

Enjolras pauses. "Bahorel is a ghost."

"Yeah, I know." Grantaire rubs the back of his neck. "It's probably not a good idea, but...it's _Bahorel_." He can tell that when Enjolras nods, it's not because he actually understands, but he's not sure how much good explaining that very little, including dying, has ever stopped Bahorel from doing anything will do.

"Why do you think I'm the only one who can see you?" Enjolras asks, as he starts putting dishes away. "Has anyone ever been able to do it before?"

"No, just you." Very quickly, everything's become _just Enjolras_ , and it makes Grantaire feel something he hasn't since long before he died, but frustrates him to no end all the same. He just hopes that Enjolras' persistence won't lead him somewhere Grantaire doesn't want him to go yet.

"And I've never been able to see ghosts before." Something occurs to him, and Enjolras freezes. "The bottle."

"What?"

"The first time I saw you," Enjolras begins excitedly, before remembering that Combeferre is upstairs and lowering his voice. "I'd just found a bottle underneath the bed, and right after that is when I heard you talk for the first time and saw you." He finishes what he's doing and starts to head upstairs, Grantaire following, and when they get to his bedroom, he opens the drawer and the bottle is still sitting there. "I don't know why I kept it. I was going to throw it away." Grantaire doesn't say anything, and Enjolras says hesitantly, "Grantaire? Do you recognize it?"

"Yes." Of course Grantaire recognizes it, though he has no idea how it's still here -- there have been other people living in the house after Grantaire and before Enjolras, but they never stayed very long, and somehow they must have missed it. It's been there all this time, and it's undoubtedly acted as some sort of trigger for Enjolras to be able to see him. "Yeah, it...I think it was mine."

"Then this must be it, this is the reason I can see you."

"I guess so."

"What's wrong?" Enjolras says, frowning. "We just figured something out."

Grantaire shrugs. "Nothing, it's just...it doesn't matter, Apollo." 

"Of course it matters. This is important, Grantaire. If we find out how you died, then maybe--"

"I'm dead," Grantaire says sharply. "That's the end. Finding out how I died won't change anything. Leave it alone."

And maybe he's a coward, and maybe it's wrong to leave Enjolras standing in his room alone with the bottle in his hand and no idea what's going through Grantaire's head, but he can't tell him anything yet.

Grantaire finds himself standing by the road outside the house, and wanders along the familiar path until he gets to the university. For the first time since he died, he longs to paint again, to feel a brush in his hand and to capture a moment on a canvas -- the shadow his fair hair casts against his eyelids, his long fingers, the curve of his mouth with a hint of white teeth that can charm near anyone. It had to be Enjolras that found the damn bottle out of everyone who could have come across it when they were cleaning or packing. It had to be _him_.

⇐~~~⇒

Grantaire is conspicuously absent for a while after that -- he's around sometimes, but he doesn't stay long, and shuts off whenever Enjolras tries to bring up what they talked about before. There isn't much that Enjolras can do about the sudden disappearances with no explanations, and there's nothing he can do to stop it -- but what he can, he will. Grantaire might be content with not caring about any of this, but Enjolras can't just let it go so easily. He's still trying to wrap his head around everything that has happened, everything that has changed -- Grantaire has come into his life and won't be ignored; he's crawled under his skin and into his head and and he needs some kind of answer, something that will help him make sense of a ghost that won't leave him alone, but won't let him in. Enjolras is sure that it has something to do with how Grantaire died, and he has to find out, for both of their sakes.

It's a difficult process, because Enjolras can only guess at when Grantaire died, and he has no idea of his full name, but Grantaire has always hinted that he's been a ghost for a long time, so that's where he starts looking. But he has to focus on the protest as well, and when Grantaire finally shows up again, it's only hours away. Half of Enjolras' friends are at the house preparing, and Jehan's telling Enjolras that he thinks he might have a secret admirer while they work on signs together when Grantaire appears in the middle of the room.

"You never give up on the pointless, do you?" Grantaire says loudly, and a book falls off the shelf that Enjolras is standing next to.

"I must have knocked it down," Enjolras tells Jehan when he pauses what he's doing, and Enjolras shoots a look at Grantaire, who just keeps talking.

"Always wasting your time, Apollo!" A pile of papers slide off the coffee table and Enjolras excuses himself quickly, glaring at Grantaire and going upstairs to his room, where Grantaire has appeared and is waiting for him.

Enjolras shuts the door and hisses, "What is the matter with you?"

"Why can't you just leave things alone?" Grantaire retorts.

"If you weren't dead, I'd think you were drunk," Enjolras says, and Grantaire flinches. "If you have a problem with me, then fine, but don't cause trouble in front of my friends when I can't explain any of it to them! And your friend Bahorel -- he's been leaving flowers for Jehan on his doorstep." Grantaire begins to smile at that, but it quickly fades when he sees Enjolras' incredulous look. "What is he _thinking?_ Haven't you considered that Jehan might want to know who it is? That he might want to meet him?"

"Bahorel's just trying to--"

"I don't want them to end up like us."

Grantaire goes very still. "What's that supposed to mean?" When Enjolras doesn't answer, he presses harder. "There's an us?"

"No," Enjolras says harshly. "That's my point."

Combeferre's calling for Enjolras downstairs. There's no satisfaction from being the one to leave Grantaire standing agape for once, only a hollow feeling, but Enjolras doesn't have time for Grantaire's cynicism right now.

⇐~~~⇒

Enjolras means to talk to Grantaire after the protest, to explain what he's trying to do, but when he comes home it's with Combeferre's arm around him for support as he limps inside.

In the living room, Grantaire is waiting, but he freezes as soon as he sees them. "What happened?"

"I'm fine," Enjolras mutters, the words directed at Combeferre but really meant for Grantaire as he sits down heavily on the couch, wincing a little.

"You're hurt."

Enjolras has never seen Grantaire like this before, perfectly still and speaking stiffly, almost cold. "It's nothing, really."

Combeferre gives him an odd look, but all he says is, "I'm going to get some pillows, and then look you over and make sure you really are all right."

"What happened?" Grantaire repeats, until Enjolras answers once Combeferre is out of earshot.

"A fight started during the protest, and a couple of us got caught up in it when we tried to break it up. I'll be fine in a day or two." Enjolras notices Grantaire's hands shaking, and he can't help but jump when the furniture trembles too, books falling from the shelves. "What is the matter with you?"

"Why weren't you more _careful?"_ Grantaire says, and Enjolras isn't sure whether his voice is shaking from anger or something else.

"What happened?" Combeferre calls, Grantaire glaring at him for a moment before disappearing when he comes back into the room, pillows in his arms.

Feeling as confused as Combeferre looks as he puts the books back in place, Enjolras just shrugs. Combeferre tells him that he has a sprained ankle and a few bruises, a black eye that's already darkening, but nothing serious. Grantaire's anger doesn't explain anything, only convolutes things more, but it's not going to deter Enjolras, only make him even more determined to find out what's going on.

The next day, though, Courfeyrac shows up early in the afternoon and when he finds Enjolras at his desk, he flops down on Enjolras' bed and complains. "Don't you ever take a day off? I think a black eye gained defending student rights has earned you a break."

Enjolras sighs. "What are you doing?"

Courfeyrac just waves him over impatiently, and Enjolras concedes that he does have a point, and lets Courfeyrac pull him down to lie next to him, where he drapes an arm over Enjolras' chest and presses his face against his shoulder. "Marius wanted the apartment, he's planning something nice for Cosette today. Ferre's busy, he's studying."

"And I wasn't?" Enjolras says, but good-naturedly. He's been too busy with schoolwork and organizing the protest and dealing with Grantaire to relax like this for a while, with no questions or arguments or thinking. He suspects that Combeferre is actually behind Courfeyrac's visit, but he appreciates it -- this is something that he and Courfeyrac, and occasionally some of the others too, used to do quite often, but haven't had the time for recently, and it's nice. It's not until he wakes up a few hours later that he really realizes how tired he has been lately. Courfeyrac is still lying half on top of him, but Combeferre is now sitting on the floor beside the bed, and they're talking quietly.

"Hey," Enjolras says sleepily.

Combeferre smiles. "Hi."

Courfeyrac begins to untangle himself from Enjolras and the blankets, making a satisfied noise when he stretches. "Well, I better be getting home."

Enjolras rolls his eyes. "What about Marius' date?"

"It's not a successful date night until I show up to embarass him a bit," Courfeyrac replies with a grin, even though they all know he's not actually that cruel. "I'll see you two later."

When he's gone, Enjolras sits up, and Combeferre pulls himself up to the edge of the bed.

"Thank you," Enjolras says. "For bringing him over. I think I needed that."

"He wanted to come. He's worried about you too." Combeferre pauses for a moment. "I know you better than anyone, Enjolras."

That might have sounded presumptuous coming from anyone else, but from Combeferre, it's simply the truth. It always has been, and since it's Combeferre, Enjolras doesn't mind.

"I don't need to know everything about you. You've been acting strangely for these past few weeks, I just need to know that you're all right."

Honestly has always been a part of their friendship, and he knows Combeferre doesn't expect complete openness between them -- they understand each other's boundaries as well as they know their own, rarely having to speak of them -- but Enjolras is _tired._

"I'm sorry," he says. "I know that I've been...there are things I have to tell you, but I didn't know how to explain them."

Combeferre nods, and Enjolras talks. He has to pause often to think, unsure of how to go about all of this. It's absurd, really, but Combeferre listens, patient as ever, to what he has to say. The explanations, the story of how this all started, how he fell into Grantaire so fast -- which is something that Enjolras himself almost forgets at times. He's never tried to put this into words before, and it's disjointed and hesitant at times, but it helps himself understand how this has all happened as well as Combeferre.

To Combeferre's credit, he doesn't interrupt and doesn't comment until Enjolras is done, even though Enjolras was half fearing that he'd think he'd gone insane. Instead, he just says, "In a strange way, it makes sense, in relation to your behaviour recently. I could tell that something had changed, but I didn't know what it was." This doesn't surprise Enjolras at all. Combeferre adds dryly, "Even if this wasn't exactly what I was expecting."

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you before now. I didn't know how—I didn't want to say anything until I understood what was really going on, but I think that only made it worse."

"You don't have to explain yourself." Combeferre's taking this well, but Enjolras can tell that he's still trying to process it. "But you care about Grantaire?"

What Enjolras is surprised by is Combeferre's choice of question, and the truth of his own answer. "Yes. But I haven't seen him since the day of the protest. He was...angry."

"Or just upset." Combeferre sighs at the look Enjolras gives him. "It's not unnatural for someone to be concerned, Enjolras."

"I can take care of myself."

"I know that, and I'm sure that by now, he does too," Combeferre says patiently. "That doesn't mean either of us won't worry occasionally."

"I want to talk to him," Enjolras murmurs. "But I don't know how to find him if he doesn't want me to."

"He'll show up. You just have to be patient."

Enjolras raises an eyebrow. "You sure very sure about that."

"It's just a feeling I have." Combeferre says.

⇐~~~⇒

Combeferre turns out to be half right. It's another week before Enjolras finds out that Grantaire is still around, but it's not because Grantaire's come to talk to him. In fact, he's been doing a great job of avoiding Enjolras completely. It's been frustrating, but Enjolras has forced himself to listen to Combeferre's advice, to wait until Grantaire's ready -- but that all ends the day that Enjolras comes home to find Combeferre's room in complete disarray.

"What's wrong?" Enjolras asks, alarmed, when he finds Combeferre in the midst of the mess, scrambling around looking for something. His exams start in the next few days and his room is usually neat and organized, and Enjolras hasn't seen his friend in a state like this for a long time.

"I can't--" is all that Combeferre manages to say, still desperately rummaging through everything, until he finally finds the bunch of papers he's looking for. "I--I couldn't _find_ them."

Enjolras knows why he's so panicked, even if he's not making much sense right now. Combeferre is always meticulous, especially during exam time, and Enjolras knows he wouldn't just lose something that seems so important. Even something small could have tipped him over, after all the stress of exams has been building up. "Come on, let's go downstairs for a minute."

When Enjolras tries to take the papers to put them on the desk, Combeferre shakes his head and says quickly, "No, I'll--I'll just hang onto them."

They go downstairs and Combeferre slowly calms down over a cup of tea. "I'm sorry, I just panicked when I couldn't find my notes. It wasn't even that--all but the most recent ones were backed up, but I." He takes a deep breath, makes himself slow down. "I left my room and when I came back, they weren't where I left them. This isn't the first time."

It finally clicks, and Enjolras is irritated at himself for not realizing it until now, but his anger at Grantaire soon overrides that. When he speaks, his voice is steady, but in the way that Combeferre knows he's furious. "What else has he done?"

"Nothing serious. Just--sometimes just little things go missing, but I always find them. I don't think he meant to--"

"This wasn't an _accident_ , Combeferre."

"I'm just saying that there's clearly something more going on here. You just need to talk to him."

"That's exactly what I intend to do."

Enjolras hasn't seen Grantaire for almost two weeks, but then again, he hasn't been actively looking. He's done his best to give Grantaire space, but he's crossed a line. Now that he knows Grantaire's been in the house when Enjolras is out, he just leaves a note for Grantaire on the fridge where he's sure it'll catch his attention. After that, he doesn't have to wait long -- Grantaire appears in his room the next day, when Combeferre's gone over to Joly's to study.

"You wanted to talk?"

"I wanted to talk a week ago." Enjolras doesn't look at Grantaire where he's standing by the door, just stares at the wall next to him. "Now, I just want you to listen." He let Grantaire respond before he goes on. "If you're angry at me, then be angry at me. Talk to _me._ Do not take it out on my friends."

"Apollo--"

"You did a really good job, you know. Making sure I was out of the house every time you were here screwing with Combeferre. "

"Did you tell him about me?"

"Combeferre deserved to know what's been going on. Especially now." Enjolras frowns. "I thought you'd be glad that somebody else knows. You were pleased enough when you found out I could see you."

"Because it's _you_." Enjolras doesn't know how to respond to that, or how Grantaire looks like he desperately wants to take those words back. "You don't know what it's like."

"Don't patronize me."

"I'm not angry at you, I'm angry at him," Grantaire says suddenly, furiously. "He was supposed to be there. He was with you, but he still let you get hurt."

"I was fine in two days, which you might have known if you'd bothered to stay around to see!"

 _"He should have been there!"_ Grantaire is shaking, and Enjolras has never seen him this distraught before, anger merging with something else.

"What is wrong, Grantaire?"

"If you can't take care of the people you--not looking out for the people you care about makes you a bad person. I would know."

Then Grantaire is gone, and Enjolras suddenly feels stupid for not realizing that this was never about Combeferre at all.

⇐~~~⇒

"R." Grantaire sighs when Bahorel sits down next to him, though if he's honest with himself, he isn't trying particularly hard not to be found. He's in the same place he's been for most of the time he's spent avoiding Enjolras, which happens to be where Bahorel lives. "I take it you and Enjolras haven't sorted things out yet?"

"Yeah, the talking part didn't go over so well."

Bahorel nudges Grantaire. "It wasn't your fault." It's no surprise that while Grantaire might not have said anything about what he and Enjolras argued about, Bahorel still knows what's wrong, even if Enjolras still doesn't. "So this isn't Combeferre's fault either."

"I know."

"So when are you going to tell Enjolras what happened?" When Grantaire shoots Bahorel a look, he shrugs. "If you want to things to go somewhere -- and I know you do -- then you're gonna have to explain some things to him."

"There isn't exactly anywhere for this to go."

"Come on." Bahorel nudges him. "If anyone's tenacious enough, it's the two of you."

Grantaire nudges Bahorel back and replies, "Are you sure we're still talking about me and Enjolras?"

Bahorel smiles at that, but doesn't budge. "Look, I'm pretty sure Enjolras isn't going to take off running. He's persistent, he's not going to give up. And neither are you."

He knows that Bahorel's right, that Enjolras hasn't put up with him these past few months just to take off as soon as he knows what happened to him, but there's that lingering fear nonetheless, and Grantaire hates it. It's something he hasn't felt in a long time -- not since he died, since he woke up as a ghost. There's been no reason to be scared at all, and a part of Grantaire wants to resent Enjolras for bringing it back, but he knows it's just that he wants what's out of his reach again. It's still a few days before Grantaire goes back to Enjolras, when they've both had time to think, to figure out what they want.

Enjolras has been waiting, and he hesitates before speaking, but he's made his mind up. "Grantaire."

"I'm sorry," Grantaire says quickly, before anything else. He just wants to get it out. "For saying the things I did. I was stupid."

"So was I." Enjolras looks him in the eye. "I messed up too, and I know you asked me to stop, but--Grantaire, I found out how you died. I'm sorry."

"It's okay." He'd expected it, really. Enjolras really doesn't give up easily, and it's just another thing that frustrates Grantaire, but is part of why he loves Enjolras anyway.

"I went to see our landlord. He told me what happened." Enjolras pauses, unsure how to put it any way but bluntly. "R, you...you were a suicide."

"Yeah, I know." Enjolras blinks. "I'm the one who did it."

"You knew the whole time? Why didn't you say anything?"

Grantaire shrugs. "I knew who I was back then. I didn't think you needed to."

"And now?"

"Now you do. I came here to tell you." Grantaire goes to sit down on the floor, but Enjolras motions for him to sit next to him on the bed, and Grantaire complies. "There's not that much to tell anyway. Bahorel's my best friend. I told you he likes fights. Well, sometimes fights just go wrong." Grantaire pauses. "He likes you, you know. You two would have been friends. He was at a protest. Sometimes I went with him to those, but I couldn't be bothered that day, and--it wasn't weird to not hear from him afterwards, sometimes he just goes home, and if he was in lock-up I always got the call, but." Grantaire trails off. "I didn't find out until the next day."

"That's why you were so upset when I got hurt."

"Yeah. Tell Combeferre I'm sorry?"

"Of course." Enjolras reaches out and touches Grantaire's hand -- Grantaire can only feel the slightest sensation, but it's more than he's had in a long time. "It wasn't your fault. None of it."

"I know. Bahorel's told me enough times that I've actually started to listen," he replies wryly. "There's not much else to it, to be honest. Bahorel was my best friend."

Enjolras' fingers curl a little, and if he could touch Grantaire properly, he'd be tightening his hand around Grantaire's. "You didn't...there wasn't anything else? Anyone else?"

There's a smile on Grantaire's lips. "Well, I hadn't met you yet, had I?" Enjolras actually blushes at that, and it makes Grantaire laugh. "Bahorel kind of hung around me after he died, and when I died too, he was there when I woke up."

"He's a good friend."

"It's kind of weird, but once I got used to being dead...well, I was happier. I had Bahorel back, so there wasn't anything else left to hurt me. And then I met you." Enjolras blinks, and Grantaire elaborates. "It's a good thing. I wasn't unhappy before, but there wasn't really anyone but Bahorel. Now there's you. And you are infuriating."

Enjolras snorts. "Yeah, I'm the infuriating one here."

"You are. And beautiful and stupid and brilliant, and I've never known anyone like you." The blush is back. "You came in and changed everything and I think I like you too much to even be mad about it."

"Well, I don't think I regret it." Enjolras brushes his fingertips over the back of Grantaire's hand.

"What does that feel like to you, anyway?"

"Kind of tingly. Soft." His fingers move up to Grantaire's wrist. "I think we still have some things to talk about." They should have done this weeks ago. "I'm sorry about what I said before. There is an us. I was just afraid there wouldn't be." Enjolras pauses. "If you do want that."

Grantaire can't help but laugh, startled but pleased. "Yeah. Yeah, I want that."

"Good." Enjolras is too nervous to try and kiss him, because he's not sure he wouldn't completely embarrass himself trying to kiss a ghost, but he doesn't move his hand. "Look, this is complicated, for obvious reasons, but I still want to try. It's not going to work like it might for other people, but we'll find what works for us."

"Good," Grantaire echoes, and they sit together for a few minutes, Enjolras still trailing his fingers up Grantaire's arm curiously. Then, Grantaire says, "So what are you going to tell your friends?"

Enjolras groans, but he's smiling. "Well, at least one of them already knows. Now we just have to figure out how to break it to the others."

 _"You_ have to figure it out," Grantaire corrects, and Enjolras swats at him.

"Thanks a lot. Wait, Jehan -- I'll have to explain to him. Things might make a bit more sense after that."

Grantaire suddenly goes still, and when Enjolras looks at him questioningly, he gives him a sheepish look. "Yeah, there's something you should probably know about that."

**Author's Note:**

> There might be sequel at some point in the future.
> 
> Probably quite far in the future.


End file.
